Batman: Red Hands
by WhereLionsRoam
Summary: Follow the Red Hood, Jason Todd, as he attempts to survive the last days of the infamous Bat Family.
1. endless Knight

"Every night, and every morn,

Some to misery are born.

Every morn, and every night,

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to endless night."

… Auguries of Innocence, William Blake

The thousand faces on the walls were all singing. Their steady, monotonous chorus-chime had filled the room with a haunting ambiance that elevated each passing second from permissible whisper to operatic scream. Time was deafening in the home of William McKeever, who had grown obsessed with its passage as it aged him, and turned the Clock King from man to mulch. His wrinkles sank deeper than the cracks in the floorboards. His skin was as spotted as the mold on the ceiling and the light in his eyes had diminished long before the bulbs overhead had flickered out. He was as dark and decrepit as the condemned building that he'd come to praise as his temple. He worshipped every minute as they were shouted from the walls.

Jason Todd was deaf to that particular dogmatic pitch. He worshipped no one and no thing, not anymore. Years ago, Jason's own ticking ballad had gone silent. Time abandoned him, swept away by the obsidian cape of his fleeting idol. Time eventually returned with a deafening shriek. His hero did not. He'd been forced back into the theatre of numbered faces and was strapped to the chair nearest the stage. He could do nothing but listen as the seconds passed. Time went on as Jason was made to live with the memories of his childhood and the fear of his future. The Clock King thrived on that sort of thing. He longed for it. McKeever wanted to sit and cheer and applaud as time went on and defied the creeping oblivion. Jason wanted silence. He wanted the clocks to stop ticking and the curtains to close. He just had work to do first.

The Red Hood came to deliver oblivion. He pushed his gun into McKeever's open mouth until the old man's teeth were scraping against the barrel. Jason could feel the alizarin steel pressed against the back of the Clock King's throat. He pushed further. William gagged and his tears ran like rivers down the canyon-wrinkles that spilled to his jaw. The old man's nightgown was bloodied. He'd known the moment that he'd stirred awake with the crimson helmed vigilante at his bedside that the clocks were finally winding down. Still he had not anticipated the wrath that Jason Todd had come to deliver upon him.

"You should be honored, McKeever." The Red Hood could never resist his parting words; the theatrical rise in tension before the inevitable climax. It was one of the few habits he still entertained from his days as Robin. Back then he taunted each crook with a cheerful, childish wonder before delivering whichever blow might have led them to a jail cell. "You're the start of something." Now he regarded the old man from behind the visor he'd adopted as his face. His voice was distorted, dark and bedevilled. The world looked red from beneath his helmet. His words were meant only to torture. "You're the first tick on a brand new clock."

William's eyes widened in clear delight, despite the taste of metal and oil slick on his tongue. The Clock King then straightened his back, rising as tall as he could from his kneeled position. Jason heard the old man's bones creak. He saw McKeever's throat flex as he stifled another gag. The tears had stopped flowing. Instead, pride steamed from the Clock King in the very moment that death threatened to engulf him. He'd realized something that Jason Todd recognized but knew to be wrong. If his death truly was a beginning, William thought, then it would transform him from the man to the clock, from the worshipper to the worshipped. McKeever could finally stand on the stage that he'd praised for his entire life. Jason knew that dream to be wrong because he had died once before. For the dead, it was the beginning of nothing.

Something metallic rolled across the floorboards and Jason's heart stopped beating. He recognized the sound, the weight, and the practiced momentum as the canister came to a stop between his feet. He looked from the face of his enemy to the grenade beneath them. He expected death. It had been coming for any and all who had once associated with the Batman and Jason knew even he would not be exempt. He saw disappointment instead. Concussive, non-lethal; his heartbeat returned like the thunder and the blood raged in his veins. Nightwing had come to stop him.

The grenade exploded in a calamitous white light. The thousand glass faces shattered and McKeever was thrown across the worn, wooden floor. He rolled like a discarded toy atop the shrapnel until he slammed limp against the wall. His breathing was labored. Pulse unsteady. Jason crashed into the nook where the wall met the ceiling and landed hard. His ears were ringing even inside the helmet and the room spun as he climbed back to his feet. He barely heard the sound of another set of heels as they danced across the floor and rushed towards him. He fired a blind shot at the movement. The bullet missed and tore through the open window from where Nightwing had surely arrived.

The Red Hood regained his senses just as the invading hero thrusted a kick into his chest. Jason stumbled and assumed the defensive. He protected his vitals first, his guns second. He couldn't hope to defeat Dick Grayson without his weapons. That knowledge alone was infuriating. Todd couldn't help but to seethe as Richard then pressed his attack. Heels and knees, fists and elbows; Jason's practiced guard shielded him from the strikes that his body armor couldn't absorb. Grayson had always excelled and Jason hated him for that. The blue-and-black vigilante fought like the sea, natural and fluid. The First Boy Wonder, the Most Beloved Son, the Greatest Hero; the Red Hood exceeded Nightwing in only one category. Jason Todd's resolve was forged by the hardest metals and the hottest fires. When the moment came that conflict evolved into war, the Red Hood was steel. Nightwing was plastic.

An uppercut passed his open jacket and sunk into Jason's ribs. He spat through gritted teeth. Blood sprayed the inside of his helmet. Todd quickly slammed the base of his gun into Grayson's temple and shoved Nightwing towards the window. Richard was stunned. Jason could see the stars in the hero's eyes even through the white lenses of Grayson's mask. Before the sea of Nightwing's assault could crash back down upon him, the Red Hood raised his gun. Richard gasped. He reached out and rushed forward but wasn't fast enough. Jason put a bullet in the Clock King's throat.

The old man had been shuffling to his hands and knees when his esophagus splattered on the wall beside him. Blood pooled like hot, dark oil around his fingers. Dick arrived at his side in a panic and McKeever wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulders. William mouthed an unintelligible babble of apologetic misery. Wicked men all died sorry. Not all of them got to die in the arms of Dick Grayson though. Jason hadn't known earlier just how right he would become, but the Clock King really should have felt honored.

Todd growled from behind the heap of hero and victim. "Time's up." McKeever was choking on the last of his blood when Jason's boot struck the side of Nightwing's head. Grayson was rattled again. He fell to the floor and slipped in the blood of the man he'd failed to save. The blue symbol on his chest was streaked red. This time Richard fought through the pain and the disorientation. He leapt upright and blocked the fist that soared for his cheek bone. He grabbed Jason's arm, pivoted and threw the Red Hood over his shoulder. Fighting Dick Grayson was like fighting the sea. He could be hit, broken, parted. The sea always regained its shape. The sea always hit back.

Jason Todd was standing yet again. He was steel, beaten and burned and built into a weapon, but even steel could be pushed by the tide. The brothers broke through the frame of the open window and crashed to the pavement below. The heavy thud of meat softened by concrete was followed only by the skidding of Jason's gun across the sidewalk. Nightwing and the Red Hood lay still. They breathed hard and thick and fought to be the first to forget the ribs splintered in their chest. It was the ocean that recovered first. Dick Grayson soon towered above Jason Todd. He pointed the barrel of the Red Hood's own weapon back down and towards Todd's helmet.

Jason barely saw the gun. He looked passed it, to the pain stretched over Nightwing's face. It covered his expression like a plastic bag tied at the neck, stealing away the hero's air. On the other side of the red visor, Todd could not help but to smile. He had seen that pain so many times before. The Red Hood then sighed and shifted, knowing that Nightwing would recognize that he'd given up for the night. He was ready for the cell and the ceremony of imprisonment. Grayson steadied his aim and tightened his jaw. Jason froze. The gun was aimed for the center of his helmet. They both knew that Richard wasn't going to pull the trigger.

The gun roared all the same and Jason's world went black. His head rocked against the sidewalk. Smoke rose from the bullet lodged in the center of his mask and cracks spread from the impact like the threads of a spider's web. Grayson's arms lowered. He dropped the pistol to the ground and fell to his knees, still atop his brother. He stared at Jason, beaten and unconscious, with wide eyes and parted lips. He whispered two words, then he raised his fists and slammed them into Jason's helmet.

He struck again and again. Each time the words were spoken louder. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied. Richard struck him again. He yelled those two words and with one final blow broke away the mask that separated him from Jason Todd. Grayson finally spilled from his mount and slumped to the pavement. Tears welled in his eyes but he fought them back. He had cried too much already. Richard muttered once more as he scooted towards the Clock King's lair and rested his back on the outside wall. "I know." In that moment, Jason Todd and Dick Grayson had never looked so alike. Their misery binded them in a way that only their father had hoped for.

It was a shame that Bruce Wayne had died before he had the chance to see it.


	2. Then the Morn

"So he took his wings, and fled;

Then the morn blushed rosy red.

I dried my tears, and armed my fears

With ten thousand shields and spears."

… the Angel, William Blake.

The crowbar cracked his skull and Jason jolted awake. His eyes were a whirlwind. He scoured the room and searched each corner for the smiling ghost which plagued his dreams. He was alone. The fluorescent bulb overhead flickered with his movement and filled Todd's cell with a sickly white light. His bed was tucked against the left wall, the right was dressed with a porcelain sink and toilet. The entrance to the cell was blocked with a thick, clear panel of polycarbonate; bullet-proof glass. Jason groaned as he finally recognized his surroundings. He'd been imprisoned in the Batcave.

He shouted an aimless curse and stood from the hard mattress. The slits between each ceiling panel doubled as the cell's ventilation unit. The Bat surely would have tucked his cameras somewhere nearby and if Dick Grayson was going to be watching Todd as he shifted in his despair, he could also endure a few petty insults. The captive vigilante splashed a handful of water from the sink and onto his face. It did nothing to dull the pain or to wash the red from behind his eyes.

Boots, body armor, weapons; Jason had been stripped of everything. Vulnerability was a soldier waking up without a gun beneath his pillow. He focused on what remained: fractured ribs, untreated concussion, bruised forearm, minor lacerations on the lower back. Todd had recovered from worse. The tape delicately wrapped around his otherwise barren midsection assured him that Grayson had at least made sure that his wounds weren't fatal. He'd have to remember to extend his thanks before their next inevitable conflict.

His bare feet traced the cold tile until Jason arrived at the cell's sealed mouth. He placed a palm against the layered glass and peered out to the great, dark expanse that the Batman had called home. The cave outside reached in all directions and extended beyond any line of sight. It was nature's greatest tomb. Bruce had spent years building floors, staircases and bridges that linked each wall of the cavern. The steel structures led from the manor far above to the riverbed two dozen miles west, and to a plethora of locations in between. There were chambers dedicated to stockpiled equipment, to weapons, to vehicles; even Jason had not seen all that the Batcave had to offer. Bruce had liked his secrets.

From the vigilante's position in the holding area, he could see a broad metal platform decorated with various trophies from Wayne's early years as the Dark Knight. Old costumes lined the enclosure. The masks of departed friends and forgotten foes were displayed in brightly-lit cases. A model tyrannosaurus towered in the center of the trophy area and its crown nearly reached the pointed roof of the cave. Jason had fond memories of scaling the dinosaur's back as a young man. He would slide down its tail and fend off a legion of imaginary adversaries, all the while pretending that he was the Batman. He had been a fool.

Jason looked away from the memories and towards the great stone spire in the opposite direction. A stairway wrapped around the pillar and led to the smaller chambers above, notably to the Batcomputer and to the main garage. The stairs' railing trembled. Jason had been taught to spot the slightest of reverberations despite the distance. Someone was coming down. He took a step back from the glass and narrowed his brow, ready to greet Nightwing with the venomous glare that the hero deserved.

"Master Jason, it's good to see that you're with us." Alfred Pennyworth emerged at the foot of the stairs and made his way towards the cell without a moment's hesitation. There was an eagerness in his step, hindered only by the caution that poured from his mature visage. Alfred had become frail, his wardrobe a size too large. His hair was thin and tousled near his ears while his eyes were tired and sad. There had been a brightness in them once. Jason ached, looking at the man that he'd come to love and to cherish, knowing that he had played a part in diminishing that light.

"You know I don't sleep, Pops." Jason took a deep breath and tried to smile. It felt foreign. He was not proud, facing Alfred from the other side of a reinforced wall. They hadn't seen one another in years. The butler had cared for Todd more completely than any other, more than the mother that birthed him and more than the billionaire that had taken him off the streets. Alfred's love had never waivered. Jason had betrayed that love. "Would it have killed you to set me up in my old room, though?"

"That decision was made by Master Dick, I'm afraid." The butler offered his own fleeting smile but it was soon overcome by his grief. Neither man seemed capable of feigning joy, no matter how greatly they wished to. His attention turned then to removing his cufflinks and unfastening his jacket. Jason watched each motion carefully. He had never seen Alfred so much as fidget with his attire, let alone remove it. "And do not be mistaken, Bruce was always your father. I was not."

Todd tightened his jaw until his mouth ached. "That dude will never be my role model." Pennyworth had stripped away his coat, folded it, and laid the dark cloth on the table just outside Jason's cell. The old man then removed his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. Todd could not see it, but heaviness was crushing Alfred. Loss weighed its highest when placed on the backs of fathers. "Man of the house was always you."

"You are very much like him you know, even if you wish not to see it." The butler rolled his sleeves to his elbows and finally looked back to Jason. "Stubborn, reckless." Todd met Alfred's gaze. Disappointment burned like the sun and Jason could not escape it. He only wished that it would make him blind. Tears filled the eyes of Alfred Pennyworth. He was no longer as strong as Dick Grayson or Jason Todd. Alfred's tears always fell. "Full of equal parts hatred, and cowardice."

Todd however, could not let himself feel sadness. He had never learned how. He filled its place with fury and instead of letting his own tears line his cheeks, he thrusted a fist into the glass between himself and Alfred. "He was the coward!" His anger had bloomed with Pennyworth's sorrow. Heartache was a rosebush, beautiful in spite of the prick. Rage on the other hand was hemlock; less pretty, far more fatal. "If I was his son, Alfred, why wasn't I avenged? Is that what you would do if your son was killed, would you just let the killer walk free?"

"My son has been killed."

Silence followed. Alfred's words cut through any wall of aggression that Jason had tried to put up. The vigilante was disarmed and the fires of his fury were extinguished, leaving a void between them that was far thicker and far more unbreakable than any bullet-proof glass. Todd eventually found the strength to speak again. "He buried me, Alfred. He buried me just like he buried Tim and he tried to forget us both."

Tim Drake was murdered eight months ago. His death had broken the Batman, who died six months after that. Gotham was quickly thrown into chaos. Major crime rose to a new peak as heroes from all over the United States poured in to combat the ensuing madness. Nightwing even returned home from abroad, joining Barbara Gordon as the city's two greatest protectors. Control was regained. The Justice League relinquished their reign in the city and Gotham returned to normal, for all except the few who were still reeling from the Batman's death.

"I buried him." Pennyworth steeled himself. The tears had dried and the weariness in his eyes was replaced with stone. "I buried Bruce Wayne, my son and your father." Something dark occupied Alfred in that moment. Jason was not glad to see it. It was a darkness that he recognized, the same darkness that haunted every soldier. "By the night's end, all of those involved will have come to regret it."

Jason put his palm back on the polycarbonate panel. He reached for Alfred, he reached for the old man to pull him from the fire that Todd had been consumed by for so long. Pennyworth did not reach back. He did not wish to be saved from the throes of his anger. He seemed almost comfortable in its embrace, as if he'd just found a long lost friend. Todd demanded an answer. "What happens tonight?"

One floor above, Barbara Gordon had parked her wheelchair in front of the Batcomputer. Her fingers struck the keys, both merciless and burdened, while her eyes darted frantically between the trio of massive looming screens that hung overhead. The hair plastered to her forehead and the strain in her expression proved that she worked by necessity, not by desire. Every keystroke placed a knife into the back of her king. She worked as quickly as she could to destroy the Batman's database.

Higher yet, beyond the cave and passed each floor of Wayne Manor, Dick Grayson stood upon the rooftop of the Wayne family home. He'd watched the rain come in and listened closely as lightning and thunder kissed the Gotham coast. The storm had swallowed him, it had swallowed the estate as a whole. Now electric light jumped between the clouds overhead and cast a frightful glow upon Wayne Manor. Just outside the gates, a crowd had gathered. Men, women, and monsters had all joined together to destroy the home of the Batman. They stared inwardly, into the storm. From the heart of it, Nightwing stared back.

"So many truths have come to light in these last few weeks, Master Jason." Alfred finally gave his answer as he turned from Todd's cell and walked towards a nearby bridge. It led to the armory. "The city has learned who Batman was, and the city has come to kill whatever pieces of him might remain."

Fury returned to the soul of Jason Todd. "You have to let me out!"

"Bruce would never forgive me if I let you kill these men in his home. Master Dick awaits them in the yard and he intends to keep them from the house. If he should fail, we have prepared an exit for both Barbara and yourself."

"Alfred, please!"

"I am the man of the house. If Wayne Manor has seen its last day then so have I."


	3. Ten Thousand Shields

Dick Grayson was the sea.

The cerulean-crowned vigilante had crashed like a wave upon the grounds of Wayne Manor only moments after he'd seen the distant masses break through the iron gates and storm towards his castle. Their fists were clenched tightly around chipped blades and dented bars; shimmers of metal and violence were illuminated by the rhythmic lightning which cracked overhead. The collision of his body against the shapes of invading men had shaken the ground and washed the frontmost of the attackers to the rear of their legion. He stood in the way of them and their goal, and in doing so put an ocean between the aggressors and his homestead. Not one among the monstrous mass of armed men and women dared to make the first move. They formed a wall, as if the hero's mere appearance had drawn a line that they could not cross. Each of them gazed upon Dick Grayson and whole-heartedly knew that they could never hope to understand the depths of his perseverance. They would never see the bottom of the trench. Even with hundreds against him, Nightwing did not falter.

Inside the Batcave, restraint had brought Jason's anger to a boil. He stared at the corner of his cell, where he knew Barbara would be watching, and paced back and forth between the glass barrier and the rear wall. The rest of his emotions, from consideration to fear, had been purified by the heat of his rage. Only it remained. "How many are there!?" He cried, barely hoping that Barbara would hear him and come to her senses. Jason belonged on the battlefield. They couldn't leave Dick alone to stop an army, especially after the fight he'd just had with Todd. Barbara did not answer, although she glanced briefly to the monitor which displayed the Red Hood in all of his frustration. She continued to work with only two words on her mind: too many.

Dick Grayson was the sea.

It would only be a matter of time before the wall closed in around him. Dick couldn't let that happen. Once he was surrounded there would be no stopping the horde from trickling into Wayne Manor. He needed to keep the enemy at his front. Grayson muttered something into the communicator on his wrist. The words were muffled by the rain and unheard by anyone, save for the man on the other end of the line. Alfred replied with brief confirmation and words of good luck. They were all going to need it. Suddenly, a red glow shined from the ground beneath the hero and his adversaries. A half-dozen bulbs lit the terrain just in front of the invading wall and forced it back a few paces. Then the mines exploded.

The explosives had been aimed downwards. They collapsed the land with an earth-shattering roar and a whirling cloud of smoke. As the debris cleared, the mob soon realized that Dick Grayson had vanished somewhere into the winds and rains which lashed above their heads. Great channels had been birthed in the ground before them and they were quickly slickened by the rain. Only a single bridge of land remained. It was only wide enough for two or three men to cross at a time but no more. The rest would be made to wait, or they would have to brave the mud-filled ditches now blocking their path to Wayne Manor.

The cave rumbled beneath the arena of war and knocked Jason from his feet. He flexed his jaw and ignored the pain that surged through his side, all the while shuffling to regain his balance. "Don't leave me in the dark down here, BG." Angry men were quick to beg. All Todd wanted was to unleash Hell upon whatever misguided souls had decided to raid his family's home. If he had known it would have come to this, he wouldn't have let himself be compromised so early. He could be helping, somewhere outside of his cell. A semi-automatic would put men down a lot quicker than Dick Grayson.

The lights flickered where Oracle worked and she gripped the sides of her wheelchair for comfort, as if it could save her from the tremor that had shaken the Batcave. A few of the exterior cameras had gone down. Their wires must have been severed in the blast. She could now only see the battle from afar. At least Dick's vitals were still on screen. They were strong, pulse only slightly elevated. She wiped the sweat from her brow and took a deep breath before her fingers returned to the keyboard set in her lap. In just a few more minutes she would be through Bruce Wayne's encryption and she'd be able to purge the system before the Batman's database fell into the wrong hands.

Jason Todd shouted once more. "He needs me."

Dick Grayson was the sea.

A few men and women had tried to endure the trenches. They buried themselves and lay trapped in the muck, shoulders left just above the grime. There was enough room for them to scream and struggle, dragging in panicked breaths and shouting spiteful curses. They were among the first to regret setting foot on Wayne grounds. Grayson would make sure that they were not the last. If he had his way, that regret would be the only thing shared by his attackers once the sun rose on their coliseum. He made a mental note to help Alfred repair the damage already done to the yard. Maybe they could get a moat, a few alligators even. Waylon Jones could get a day job.

The horde began to cross the only path left for them to take. They emerged two at a time on the other side of the chasm, moving with a newfound caution, and began to form a circle of men all standing back-to-back. There were four of them, then six. Soon there were ten and they all looked wide-eyed to the storm and the shadows around them. More joined, each brandishing whichever weapon they could drag along. Dick tallied the more dangerous ones. He'd disarm those few first then move through the crowd. He waited until the very moment that their confidence seemed to return. The circle of men pivoted to all face Wayne Manor. Soon the most forward of the bunch pointed ahead and opened his mouth as if to rally the monsters behind him. His words never came.

Dick Grayson landed once more at their front, this time with his twin batons held firmly in hand. The bars were steel, grips shaped in rubber. Their ends shined with a crackling white light that mimicked the clouds far above and the smooth wear of their sides spoke of the many years that the hero had committed to their use. Nightwing wielded them like bolts of lightning. The horde fell one by one as the hero retaliated against them, and the storm grew even more voracious. Their wet clothes and skin only amplified the electric charge which accompanied each strike of Grayson's batons. The thunder which followed each flash of light was not some collision in the sky. It was the crack of breaking bone.

The Batcave went dark again. A few moments passed while Barbara Gordon and Jason Todd each held their breath. They thought for sure that the kingdom was coming down atop them, but soon enough the generators whirred to life and the emergency lighting kicked on. Each of them let themselves breathe while the dim glow of the ulterior bulbs reminded them that they were not done just yet. Barbara had a mission to accomplish and Jason had a fight to join. Their tasks felt equally impossible in that moment.

Only half of the Batcomputer's screens had come back online. The backup generators gave priority to the main servers and the primary operating system. It would give Oracle the tools that she needed to finish hacking through the Batman's encryption but not much else. In their last minute preparations, they hadn't accounted for any damage caused to the land. Bruce would have been disappointed. Fortunately the emergency elevator which led to the canals beneath the cave ran independently of that system. Her eyes fled again to Richard's vitals. He was still alive. She could even see him working his way through the crowd of invaders from the distant and irregular angle of the remaining cameras. They were going to make it, she realized. They were going to survive.

Dick Grayson was the sea.

They could not land a hit that seemed to matter. They could not get their hands around him or pin the vigilante down. Every time that their hands neared his throat or their knives neared his back, Nightwing slinked away like the sinking tide before reemerging with an even greater tenacity than before. They drowned in his wrath, beaten and left unconscious in the dirt. Grayson meanwhile tried to steer their descent, each time leading the defeated attackers towards their fallen allies. He'd quickly started three piles of bodies which stacked around him like the points of a triangle. One of them had started to block the bridge. Now the horde was forced to climb over their battered and bleeding compatriots just to get a chance to swing at their target.

Nightwing started to swell with the turn of his victory. Surely he had put a dent in their numbers and he knew that their determination would be dwindling with every added defeat. It would be just a few more minutes before they surrendered and made to retreat back to the pit of the city where they had crawled from. He knew how dire the situation was. He knew how unlikely survival had been but Dick Grayson, like Barbara in the cave below, also knew that they were going to make it. They were going to survive.

Jason Todd did not share that faith. He had stripped the bandages from his ribcage, shredded them with his teeth, and started to wrap the material around his wrists and knuckles. He'd flooded the toilet after clogging it with the bedsheet and lifted the mattress from the corner of the room. It rested upright, pressed against the polycarbonate panel which locked him in his cell. With the bed blocking its way, no one would be able to look in from the outside and judge the vigilante's position. They wouldn't see the floor slick with water either. Jason's anger had reached its hottest. He'd given up on communicating, on asking to help or to be freed. All that was left now was to prepare. Jason Todd knew that the end was coming.

Dick Grayson was the sea.

The deep bellow of a missile being fired from its chamber interrupted Nightwing's impenetrable defense. A piercing whine passed high above him and drew his attention from his foes to its course. He saw the man in the distance, on the opposite side of the trench, who hoisted a rocket launcher on his shoulder and wore a smile on his face. An umbrella had been painted onto the weapon's side. Dick's eyes could not follow the missile quickly enough. By the time he looked over his shoulder, the face of Wayne Manor had burst into ruin and flame.

The cave shook again. This time Barbara ignored the trembling crypt and kept her focus on the computer. Her index finger slammed definitively on one final key and she watched as the rows of code and confusion plastered on the central screen finally submitted to her will. She had done it. Barbara cheered and looked to where she was sure she'd see Grayson standing victorious in the field. What waited for her there on the cameras twisted her triumph and her hope into gruesome defeat. She sunk into her chair and whispered her denial. Tears already fell from her cheeks to her blouse. They had been so close.

Her gaze shifted to another monitor, where she could see Jason standing at the back of his tomb. Barbara steeled herself. The night was not lost for all of them. She sat upright and reached to press the series of keys which would unlock Todd's cell. Outside, the horde was approaching Wayne Manor. Their plan was for Oracle and the Red Hood to flee, down to the furthest reaches of the cave where a boat waited for the pair of them. She entered the prompt for the door to open. Nothing happened. Her heart froze in her chest and her fingers, filled with purpose just a heartbeat ago, fell limp upon her keyboard. She'd forgotten that the functionality of the cells was dependant on the main power source. In the event of an outage, they were forced into permanent lockdown to avoid any escapes. Jason Todd was trapped in the Batcave.

Dick Grayson was the sea, but even an ocean could run dry.

He looked upon his home as it was reduced to ash, as the unforgiving winds dragged in fresh oxygen even quicker than the rains could tame the blaze. Wayne Manor was burning. He had failed to protect it. Something heavy abruptly struck the back of his head. His vision blurred as he turned to face whoever had landed the monsters' first blow. It was a woman, feeble and frightened but wielding a length of lead as if it could bring down God himself. Another attack came from his side. Grayson fought to avoid each strike and eventually dragged the second assailant into the mud. He was hit again from somewhere that he could not see. His eyes went dark but he could feel the ground beneath him. He knew that he was still standing.

He reached out with the length of his batons and turned on his heels. He tried to listen for the mob as they moved and rumbled around him, but their shuffling was silenced by the raging gale and blistering fire. He could feel that the wall had finally closed in. They were a pack of jackals circling their kill. The hero swung blindly as someone advanced. The strike landed and whoever had come towards him groaned before thudding to the ground. Then came the others.

There was no telling how many piled atop him. He lost count as his limbs failed and his body went numb. The thunder he'd heard in their bones now echoed inside of his own. Dick Grayson went still, and he was devoured by that storm.


End file.
